hailed a late-night taxi because she called, you would've done the same. she waits on the curb in hooded pajamas, year of the sheep ears. we talk soft, ordinary. of the cold room, spring festival plans, strawberries i stole off her plate the week before. then asleep. as normal people living out mundane moments dreading sunrise for regular reasons. i will distinguish myself later, cast away these comforts from the cabin of the next plane. but she called so i came.